Last time I was on a farm I got chased off it by a dog. One of many reasons not to go to Amersham. This time I appeared to be on a legitimate public footpath and got out of the farm without having my leg chewed, to meet the heartwarming sight of the M25, welcoming the lost Londoner home with a message of hope:
Unfortunately on the other side of the M25 there wasn’t hope. There was Crews Hill. Have you ever thought “I wish there was one place where I could buy a shed, some fertiliser, wedding decorations, a lizard AND PRETTY MUCH NOTHING ELSE”? That place exists! It is called Crews Hill!
I’d call it an industrial estate but industry seems going a bit far. It goes on and on like this for pointless acres. My advice for the people of Crews Hill is that if you’re living in Crews Hill you almost certainly do not want to know what the future holds for you.
If anyone from Crews Hill is reading this and feels that I’m being a bit unnecessary about the place, I would remind you that I voluntarily spent over half an hour of my holiday walking through it. I am not suggesting that you are the only people who have problems. And you have that garden centre with a fake windmill outside it for no particular reason. You do have that.
After some more walking I got to Clay Hill. I didn’t spend much time there but I get the feeling that life can be difficult in Clay Hill. They have to explicitly tell people not to bring their own drink to church functions. They still use Clip Art.
But I didn’t have time to get to know Clay Hill, to get a true sense of this place. I had to trudge south through a graveyard to yet another hole with the word Hill in the name, for absolutely no reason.